


Fifty Shades of Sammy

by LolaAnn



Category: 50 Shades of Grey - E. L. James, Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor, Parody
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-21
Updated: 2012-09-26
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:18:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LolaAnn/pseuds/LolaAnn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Trickster is messing with the boys again, but this time he’s making them play their roles in the movies instead of on TV.  How will they handle it when they’re dropped into the film version of Fifty Shades of Grey?  And why does Dean seem to know exactly what’s going on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural and I am not secretly E.L. James. No infringement intended.  
> A/N: It’s been a rough week for me and, as you may have guessed, I use humor to deal. This is just pure ridiculousness meant to cheer myself up a bit, but hopefully it will make someone else laugh too. Not intended to offend fans of the book series. Because, hey, I read them too. All three. Don’t judge me!

The Trickster hates him most of all.   There’s not a doubt in Sam’s mind about that fact.  Sure, maybe he did kill Dean hundreds of times, but Sam was the one who had to remember it and deal with the fallout.  Dean, on the other hand, had the luxury of being almost completely clueless throughout the entire process.

Then there was the TV nightmare in which he got his nuts smashed, was forced to claim he had genital herpes, and was turned into a spoof of KITT from that cheesy Hasselhoff show, _Knight Rider_.  If that wasn’t proof that this was personal, nothing was.  Okay, to be fair, Dean did get shot.  But Sam is still convinced he got the raw end of the deal overall.

And here they are again, trapped in one of the Trickster’s illusions.  Only this time they have to act in movies and, once again, the bastard is playing favorites – meaning Sam is getting all of the worst roles.

So far, he’s been forced to play the douchebag villain from _Titanic_ , Clyde the orangutan in one of those stupid Clint Eastwood movies Dean loves, and he had to dress as a clown and play serial killer, John Wayne Gacy, in some poorly written, independent film about his tragic childhood.  He doesn’t know what role will be next, but he’s pretty sure that, whatever it is, it’s going to suck hardest for him.

“Son of bitch!” Dean shouts.  “What the hell?!”

Suddenly, Sam is sitting in the backseat of some sort of vehicle and his brother is behind the wheel.  Problem is, they’ve been dropped right in the middle of rush hour traffic in a big city.  It’s a close call and there is definitely some swerving and more cursing involved, but his brother is one hell of a driver and manages to bring the large vehicle under control before they crash.

_ “Double crap!”   _

The voice sounds shocked and is most definitely female.   Sam looks beside him to see a very pretty brunette staring at him with wide, alarmed blue eyes.  She is chewing on her bottom lip so hard that he wouldn’t be surprised if it started bleeding.  Seriously, what now?

“Christian, what’s happening? Is something wrong with Taylor? ” she asks in a whisper, looking straight at him.  Apparently he’s ‘Christian’ in this movie and Dean must be ‘Taylor’.  Good to know.

“Uhhh… road rage?” Sam replies with a shrug.  “Dean, I mean _dude’s_ got a major case of road rage… it’s bad… sort of, you know… like a problem?  He needs help and stuff.”  Great, he’s rambling like an idiot who has no earthly idea what’s going on.  Wonder why?

_“Dude?”_ the girl repeats in disbelief.  “Why Christian, when did you suddenly become so keen on using low-class street slang?”  She giggles and bats her eye lashes.  “I’m simply appalled at you, sir.”

Low-class street slang? Keen?  This girl sounds very strange.  Her accent is American, but there’s something not-quite-American about her speech pattern.  It’s just _odd_.  And what’s up with the ‘sir’?  Is he ninety in this movie?  This time he’s completely lost.   Maybe Dean will know.  He’s the pop-culture/movie guy.

“Dean,” he whispers, leaning forward in his seat.

“It’s Taylor,” his brother mutters back.

“Okay fine, _Taylor_.  What piece of crap movie have we been dropped into this time?”

“How the hell should I know?” Dean hisses back at him.  He sounds defensive, too defensive.  He’s lying.  It’s amazing how Dean can con for a living and then be such a horrible liar at times.

“Pull over,” Sam snaps.

“Of course, Mr. Grey,” his brother says politely and then maneuvers into the right-hand lane so he can pull onto the shoulder.

“Who’s Mr. Grey, Dean?”

“ _Shit!”_

Despite the circumstances, Sam allows himself to laugh.  He’s just caught Mr. Smooth red handed.

“Dammit, Sam… I mean _Mr. Grey_ ,” Dean huffs under his breath.  “Stay in friggin’ character or we’ll never get out of this mess!”

“What character?!”

Dean pulls the car to a stop on the shoulder of the freeway, hops out, and then pokes his head back in. “Just get out of the damn car,” he grumbles. 

Sam smiles apologetically at the brunette, who is still chewing on her bottom lip and looking at him like he’s lost his mind.  He shakes his head at her.  What is up with this girl?  “Just stay here, okay?”

“Yes, Christian. As you wish,” she says a bit too dramatically.  “Just be careful of the traffic on the motorway.”

The motorway?  He’s glad Dean didn’t hear that. He’d demand to know what god-fearing American says ‘motorway’?  Shit!  Maybe this is Canada?

He exits on the passenger side of the vehicle, which turns out to be an SUV.  The girl does kind of have a point about all the traffic and it’s no wonder.  They are in a big city, Seattle to be specific.  He can see the Space Needle in the distance.

“Dean, what gives?  What are you hiding?”

His brother shuffles his feet and scrubs a hand down his face.  He’s embarrassed.

“I’m not hiding anything, Sam.  I just… I was… confused.  This is a book.  As far as I know there hasn’t been a movie made of it yet.  I needed a minute to get my bearings.  I was thrown, okay?”

“ _Okay._   Jeez, stop being so defensive.  What’s the book?”  

“Fiftyshadesofgrey”

“What?  Dean, dude, you’re gonna have to say that a little slower.”

“Fifty Shades of Friggin’ Grey, Sam!” he growls, enunciating each word.  “Yes, I read it!  Are you happy now?”

Sam has to think about that for a minute.  Why does that sound so familiar? _Oh, wait a minute._   It’s supposed to be a trashy romance novel.  This is priceless!  Too bad he doesn’t have time to gloat right now.  _Well, maybe he has a little time._

“A romance novel, Dean?  Seriously?”

“It’s mostly porn!  It’s all about this guy that’s all into bondage and S & M and crap.  But between you and me,” he adds conspiratorially, “I’ve been to hell and, trust me, Grey has no clue what real S & M even is.”

Sam would like to put his fingers in his ears and hum a tune right about now. 

“Dean, remember how I said you could tell me anything about hell and I’d listen?”

Now his brother looks really uncomfortable.  Good, that makes two of them.  “Uh, yeah,” he mumbles.

“Well, forget I ever said that.  I really don’t need to know.”

Dean nods.  “Noted.”

Great.  Now they can get back to business.  “So what’s going on here?  Who am I and who are you?”

“You’re Christian Grey, the kinky billionaire who likes to spank hot brunettes, and I’m your security guy and chauffer, Taylor,” Dean adds with a frown.  “I mean that kinda makes sense since Taylor’s ex-Special Forces and kind of a badass, but I’m the lady’s man and Christian’s supposed to be really good looking and-”

_ “Dean.”  _

“Sorry.  No offense, Sammy.  It’s just weird… Maybe it’s cause you’re kind of emo and that Christian Grey is definitely one hardcore emo.  Technically, he’s crazier than a shithouse rat.  Plus, you have all that floppy hair.  Every other sentence was about dude’s messed up, floppy hair.”

Great, he’s a sadistic, emotionally unstable billionaire with floppy hair.  Yep, the Trickster _really_ hates him. He must be laughing his ass off right now.

“So, who is that girl supposed to be?”  

“That’s Ana.  Uh… Anastasia Steele,” he mutters, embarrassed.  “She’s totally hot, but she doesn’t know it.  And you’re head over heels for her, but you also want to beat her ass since she looks like your dead, crack whore mom.”

“ _What the fuck?!_   This is a romance?” 

Dean just shrugs.

“So, what am I supposed to do?  Please don’t tell me I have to go spank that poor girl.”  

“No!  God no!  _Please_ don’t do that in front of me.  Taylor never saw any of that crap, so you’re cool.  Just talk to her.  Ask her how she feels about the Master/Slave contract you want her to sign.  That should get her going.  _Oh_ and tell her to quit biting her lip.  That’s a thing with him.  It really makes him want to get naked, so he’s always bitching at her over it.”

Sam wasn’t even going to ask his brother to elaborate on the contract.  That was just too much. “So, what do you do, Taylor?”

“I just sit around and look stoic… and I pretend not to hear all the crazy shit you two talk about.”

Once again, Sam gets the freaky role.  _Surprise, surprise._   “Okay,” he sighs.  “Let’s just get back in the car and get this over with.”

“Hell yeah. I’m with you there.  This is freaking uncomfortable.  Oh and Sammy, one more thing...”

Sam turns around before climbing back into the backseat, but really wishes he hadn’t after his brother reaches up and makes a huge rat’s nest out of his hair.

“Your hair’s supposed to be all tousled and sexy or something… so you need to run your hands through it every few seconds,” Dean instructs once he’s satisfied, then gives him a hard slap between the shoulder blades.  “Just think intense and emo, Sammy.  You can do it.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Didn't initially intend to add to this, but I just couldn't resist rocking my inner goddess and doing a chapter in Ana's POV. God help us all.

I am still unsure what Christian and Taylor are talking about. The entire situation is very strange. I think that possibly this is a security matter, and Christian does not wish to burden me with the details. He can be so secretive and closed off. _My mysterious Fifty._

Finally, they return from their roadside conversation. Taylor – who is incredibly bowlegged, I’ve just noticed - slides behind the wheel of the Audi as Christian climbs into the backseat with me. As usual, he looks mercurial, irritated, smoldering… I can feel it all the way down _there._

I also notice that his too-long, unruly hair has more of a just-fucked quality than usual. Only he can get away with that look. _Oh my_ , he is so very, very good looking. It is as if an electric current flows through him and connects directly with my inner goddess. All the muscles below my waist clench with desire. _Holy crap._

It is odd, however, that Christian’s unruly, dark copper-colored hair isn’t so copper-colored at the moment _._

“Where to, Mr. Grey?” Taylor asks. His voice is pitched low and his speech is very deliberate, as if he’s concentrating on every syllable.

“I dunno,” Christian shrugs then leads forward in his seat and whispers over Taylor’s shoulder, “What do you think? Where should we go? You’re the expert.”

 _What? He’s asking for Taylor’s opinion now?_ That is so not-Christian. He is the master of his universe. He doesn’t ask anyone’s opinion. He is an expert on everything. He’s only twenty-seven and he can already fly a helicopter, and play professional-quality classical music on his gold-plated grand piano.

I can almost swear I hear Taylor hiss _“screw you, I was curious”_ in response, but surely that is just my imagination. No one would dare talk to Fifty like that. He is the very essence of male dominance.

“I think we should go to dinner, Mr. Grey,” Taylor says, this time in a much louder voice.

Once again, Taylor’s voice sounds monotone, almost like he’s reading lines from a script. _Very odd_. It occurs to me that the man would make a horrible actor.

Christian sits back in his seat before turning to me.

“You hungry?” he asks.

 _Oh my_ , here we are again. I bite my lip and cringe, knowing he’ll be displeased with what I am about to say.

“Not really,” I utter in a weak voice. I can feel his intense, gray…. well, actually… not-quite-gray eyes burning into mine. _The lighting in here must be off._

“Okay,” he says with a shrug. He sounds like he honestly does not care one way or the other.

 _Oh my._ Christian isn’t badgering me about food. I suppose I should be happy, but it fills me with a deep, cold dread. He is usually so obsessed with that subject. His food issues account for at least a good dozen of his fifty shades.

 _Perhaps he’s losing interest in you, already_ , my subconscious suggests. She looks unbearably smug with that ‘I told you so’ expression on her face. I hate her!

 _Oh no!_ Please don’t let her be right. My life would be eternal darkness without Christian. My sweet, sweet Fifty. It would be a very dark night of the soul, indeed. I know I’ve only known him for a minute or two, but I feel as if I’d be lost without him. _No Fifty, please don’t desert me! You are so incredibly good looking._

I’m torn from my near soul-shattering lamentation by another strange exchange between Christian and Taylor. Taylor is glaring at Christian through the rearview mirror and Christian has his brows drawn together and is shaking his head back at him. It’s as if they are engaging in a secret form of silent communication. _Holy crap._ What is happening here?

Now Taylor is coughing. I think possibly, I’m becoming paranoid, because it sounds like he says ‘contract’, between coughs.

Christian looks confused as well, but he abandons his rearview mirror staring contest and turns back to me.

“So… uh… what do you think of the contract?” he asks with a frown.

I gasp and flush crimson, cutting my eyes toward Taylor. I can’t talk about that in front of buzz cut. He is so taciturn and he reminds me of my stepfather… although I notice he’s looking younger today. _Seriously, what is up with the lighting in this car?_

Taylor clears his throat. “Don’t worry about me, Miss Steele. You can talk freely. I can barely hear a damn thing… mostly just read lips ‘n stuff. It happened in the war.”

 _Oh my_. The war! Taylor was in a war?

“Yeah, that’s right,” Christian quickly agrees. “The war was… awful _._ It was a _really_ bad war. Taylor fell on a mine…. It damaged his hearing.”

 _Jeez!_ He fell on a mine? I wonder why he isn’t horribly scarred. I suppose the surgeons really can work miracles these days. Perhaps Christian met and hired him through his charity work. It tugs at my heart strings and I gaze fondly at him. Deep down, he is such a kind and generous man.

“I’m sorry, Taylor,” I mutter, after a horrified gasp. “I didn’t know.”

“Huh?” he barks back in response. “Sorry, Miss Steele, I can’t hear you. But I’ll turn on the radio to give you some more privacy if it’ll make you feel better.”

Suddenly the car is filled with the very loud strains of AC/DC’s _Big Balls_. _Holy cow!_ I knew Christian said his tastes were eclectic, but this is just…. unexpected. I am absolutely shocked by Taylor’s selection. He usually goes for the soothing classical pieces.

Christian narrows his eyes at Taylor’s back and rolls his eyes.

 _Nice to know someone’s allowed to roll their eyes around here,_ my subconscious snarks. I truly detest her. She actually has an ounce of sense. It is so inconvenient.

Christian is being more mercurial than usual. In fact, he looks utterly annoyed as he glares at Taylor. I am appalled by his lack of empathy for this poor man… this war hero in our midst. Maybe his choice in music was a little odd, but he can’t hear for Christ’s sake! Christian’s fifty shades are certainly showing in glowing Technicolor today. My subconscious purses her lips at him, staring down her nose through her horn-rimmed spectacles. She does not approve.

“Just ignore Taylor,” he snaps irritably. “I do.”

 _Jeez._ I bite my lip and wonder if I am the reason Christian is acting so odd. I probably am. I have avoided the subject of the contract. Perhaps he is losing his patience and taking it out on poor Taylor. I dig deep in hopes of finding a hidden reserve of courage. I must face the music. I cannot avoid it anymore.

“Oh yeah!” Christian suddenly exclaims, sounding like someone who has just remembered some forgotten detail.

I almost jump out of my skin. Holy crap!

“Stop biting your lip,” he says sternly, glaring at me with his smoldering not-quite-gray eyes.

 _Holy cow._ I’m so relieved. He does care! I release my lip from between my teeth and smile at him.

“Sorry sir,” I murmur.

“Not a big deal," he says and I frown, once again puzzled by his mercurial mood swings.  
  
“So… this contract thing?” he prompts.

I look deep into his not-quite-gray eyes, searching my soul for the correct answer. Do I want to do this?

 _Of course you do!_ My inner goddess exclaims. She is down on her knees in supplication wearing a horsehair shirt, begging me to say ‘yes’ while flogging herself with a cat-o-nine-tails.

Just then, Christian reaches up and runs his hand through his dark, not-quite-copper-colored hair. It is a revelation. _Oh my._ He is so ridiculously good looking. Perhaps I can do this. _Yes_ , I should do this. He is such an incredibly beautiful man. I am sure if I let him boss me around long enough, he will realize how much I trust and care for him. Yes, that will almost certainly work. I can bring him to the light.  
  
He deserves so much, and yet he wants plain, simple Ana for some unknown reason. I should be more grateful. He is, after all, so very, very, incredibly, ridiculously good looking ~~and his penis is friggin HUGE!~~


End file.
